Chapter 79 Elevator affection
The elevator doors slid open on the forty-second floor with a soft chime.
Lola Harper stepped inside first, shoulders tight from another fourteen-hour day.
She jabbed the lobby button harder than necessary, then leaned against the mirrored back wall and closed her eyes for one exhausted second.
She smelled him before she heard him, oud and something expensive, unmistakably male.
Her eyes snapped open just as Damian Voss slipped a hand between the closing doors.
They bounced open again, and he strode in like he owned the entire building.
Which, technically, his family almost did.
“Harper,” he said in that low, clipped tone that always managed to sound both bored and accusatory at once.
“Voss,” she returned, folding her arms. She refused to step aside and give him more room.
This was her elevator ride home, damn it.
He pressed the already-lit lobby button anyway, then settled against the opposite wall, hands in the pockets of his tailored charcoal suit.
The silence between them stretched, thick and hostile.
They had been at war for eighteen months, ever since Damian swooped in as the new head of sales and started dismantling every campaign Lila had spent years building.
He questioned her numbers in meetings, rewrote her copy without asking, and took credit when things went well while pointing fingers at marketing when they didn’t.
She hated him with a professional passion that sometimes felt dangerously close to something else.
The elevator began its smooth descent. Forty floors to go.
At thirty-eight, the lights flickered.
At thirty-seven, the car shuddered hard enough to make Lola grab the brass rail.
A metallic groan echoed through the shaft, and then everything stopped.
The overhead lights died, plunging them into darkness for a heartbeat before the emergency strips glowed a dull, ominous red.
Lola’s pulse kicked up. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Damian was already at the panel, pressing the emergency call button with controlled force.
After a moment, a tiny voice answered.
“Power outage across the grid. Backup generators are online for essentials, but the elevators are locked down for safety. Technicians are on it…estimate thirty to sixty minutes.”
Thirty to sixty minutes. Trapped with him.
“Perfect,” Lola muttered, sliding down the wall until she sat on the cool marble floor.
Her pencil skirt rode up her thighs; she tugged it back down and hugged her knees.
She hissed loudly and wanted to call Damien bad luck.
Damian exhaled through his nose, pacing the small space in three long strides before turning back.
The red light painted sharp shadows across his face, turning the usual arrogance into something almost predatory.
“You think I planned this?” he asked. He wanted to know what she had to say, he might pretend but he likes her jabbing so much.
“I think the universe has a sick sense of humor.” she groaned angrily.
He stopped pacing. For a long moment he just looked at her, as if seeing past the armor she wore in every meeting.
Then he took off his jacket, tossed it over the rail, and rolled up his sleeves.
The movement revealed strong forearms dusted with dark hair, the kind of detail she had absolutely never allowed herself to notice before.
He lowered himself to the floor opposite her, knees bent, close enough that their shoes almost touched.
Heat rose quickly in the sealed box. Lola felt the first trickle of sweat between her shoulder blades.
She unbuttoned her blazer and peeled it off, leaving her in a silk blouse that clung more than she liked.
Damian’s gaze tracked the movement, lingering at the hollow of her throat where a single bead of sweat slid down and disappeared beneath the fabric.
“Stop staring,” she said, though her voice came out softer than intended.
His gaze made her weak and she could feel her legs crashing.
“Make me.” His deep voice groaned making Lola feel something different…something erotic.
The words hung between them, low and rough.
Something electric snapped in the air.
Lola’s breath caught. She should have fired back with a cutting remark, something about his ego or his ethics but nothing came.
Instead she found herself studying the hard line of his mouth, the way his tie had loosened just enough to reveal a sliver of tanned skin at his collar.
He shifted closer, elbows resting on his knees. “You know what I’ve always wondered?” His voice was quieter now, almost conversational.
“If all that fire you throw at me in meetings is the only place you let it burn.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. “You don’t know anything about me.” She wanted him to say yes he didn't know anything about her.
“I know you bite your lip when you’re trying not to lose your temper. I know you tap your pen exactly three times when you’re about to destroy someone’s bad idea. And I know,” he leaned in a fraction, “that right now you’re not thinking about tomorrow’s pitch.”
She should move away. She didn’t. She was shocked he noticed such information about her.
The space between them shrank until she could feel the warmth radiating off his body. His eyes dropped to her mouth.
“Tell me to back off,” he said, so softly she almost missed it.
Lola opened her mouth and nothing came out.
Damian’s hand lifted slowly, giving her every chance to stop him.
When she stayed frozen, his knuckles brushed her cheek, tracing the line of heat there.
His thumb grazed her lower lip, and her breath stuttered.
The emergency light flickered once, casting them in a deeper shadow.
Somewhere above them, machinery hummed faintly, but inside the elevator there was only the sound of two people breathing too fast.
His fingers slid into her hair, tilting her face up.
He didn’t kiss her yet. He hovered a breath away, eyes searching hers for permission, for denial, for anything that would let him cross the line they had both pretended existed for over a year.
Lila’s hands clenched on her thighs. Every rational thought screamed at her to push him away.
Instead, she closed the last inch herself.